by Carola Dunn
Phillip accepted that, and Daisy went off to take her longoverdue bath.
After dinner she went over the next day’s plans with the others. Then they joined her cousins in the drawing-room, the terrace being ruled out by Geraldine, who was sure it was about to rain. Somnolent after an excess of exercise, they were settling down to a quiet evening when Ernest appeared.
“Telephone, Mr. Petrie, sir.”
Phillip dashed off, to return a few moments later and beckon urgently to Daisy.
Joining him, she asked in a low voice, “Mr. Arbuckle?”
“Yes. He’s back in Malvern and he wants to come over. Is that all right? He’s holding the line.” Phillip started back to the telephone in the front hall and Daisy followed.
“Can’t we go there?” she proposed.
“He doesn’t want anyone to see me with him while Gloria’s supposed to be away visiting friends.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. He’s right, people would talk. We must see him, and it’s less conspicuous for him to come here.”
“It’s frightful cheek to invite him.”
“I’ll think of something to tell Geraldine.”
“She thinks he ran me off the road.”
“Right-o, how’s this: You discovered he has pull with a publisher—a big investment or something—so you invited him to meet me. That will give us an excuse to talk to him privately, too. Warn him,” she advised as Phillip picked up the telephone.
He spoke briefly to Arbuckle, then hung up. “He’ll be here in half an hour.”
“I’ll ask Edgar if we can use his den. That will circumvent Geraldine nicely.”
As they reached the drawing-room, Edgar was saying, “And then I spotted a Chinese character.”
Startled, Daisy wondered if a Chinaman had somehow got mixed up in the kidnapping. Could “the Yank” be a deliberately misleading nickname? Didn’t Chinese criminals favour the white slave trade rather than abductions for ransom?
“Cilix glaucata, you know,” Edgar continued. “At rest, with its wings folded, the adult moth looks remarkably like a bird dropping.”
“Really, Edgar!” exclaimed Geraldine.
Phillip chose that moment to announce, “I say, that was Arbuckle on the ’phone. The American chappie, you remember, Lady Dalrymple?”
“Oh yes. Edgar, I wish you would not …”
“I discovered he’s a publisher, or has influence in a publishing company, or something of the sort. Investments, what? So it seemed a good idea to introduce him to Daisy.”
‘ … discuss the revolting habits of your insects …”
“So I’ve asked him to pop over this evening. I hope you don’t mind.”
“ … in mixed company. By all means, Mr. Petrie. It’s really most improper.”
“There’s nothing improper about it,” Edgar argued. “It’s a matter of scientific observation.”
“Would you mind if we used your den, sir? Business matter, and all that.”
Edgar waved permission. “Don’t you see, dear, one must be able to describe the appearance accurately but in layman’s language. And the Chinese Character looks like a bird dropping.” He repeated the phrase with a defiant air. “Camouflage, you see.”
“Spiffing,” said Daisy, stifling a giggle as she caught Lucy’s sardonic eye. “We’ll wait for him there so as not to disturb you all when he arrives.”
She hustled Phillip out before Geraldine’s attention left the indecorous behaviour of moths and moved to the indecorous behaviour of a guest who invited a guest of his own.
They went to the den. Daisy, her legs still tired from bicycling, flopped into one of the vast leather-covered chairs. Phillip was too restless to relax. He went out again to pace the front hall.
Daisy’s eyelids were drooping when he stuck his head back in a few minutes later to say, “I’m going to walk down the drive to meet him.”
Shaking herself awake, Daisy set her mind to marshalling her arguments for calling in the police. Her thoughts on Alec, she started wondering if her mother was going to treat him with the sort of icy politeness which was in effect a form of insult. That reminded her that she’d promised to pop in to see the dowager today and hadn’t.
“Oh blast!” she said aloud.
“Pardon me?”
The American voice sounded infinitely weary. Daisy looked round. Arbuckle was not at all what she had expected of an American millionaire, that is large, overfed, and exuding a slightly false bonhomie.
About her own height, he was lean to the point of boniness. She guessed he had lost weight recently, for his charcoal suit, though of unmistakable Savile Row cut, hung on him as on a scarecrow. His long, gaunt face had a greyish cast to match his receding hair.
Mr. Arbuckle, she realized with a rush of sympathy, had no faith in his daughter’s safety.
His desolate eyes brought home to her with a jolt that she and her friends were not engaged for fun in a treasure-hunt with which she was already rather bored. Their efforts might mean the difference between life and death.
10
“Well now,” said Arbuckle, shaking Daisy’s hand,”if this isn’t mighty kind of you, ma’am. Petrie’s explained to me what you’re trying to do for my little girl. He tells me he has absolute faith in your discretion, yours and your friends’.” The doubt expressed by his choice of words was echoed in his tone.
“We’ve all promised not to let the cat out of the bag, Mr. Arbuckle, and we’re frightfully careful with our enquiries. I think you’d better meet the others—but later, if you feel up to it. Do sit down, won’t you?”
A sigh escaped him as he sank gratefully into one of the big chairs.
Phillip leant against the mantelpiece, one hand in his trouser pocket. Despite the casual pose, Daisy saw he still had the jimjams.
“We really are careful, sir,” he said. “Daisy—Miss Dalrymple—has worked it all out.”
“How do you mean?”
“I came up with ways to ask questions that sound like casual chit-chat. Local people aren’t at all likely to gossip with Cockneys or Americans, anyway. They look on people from the other side of the Malvern Hills as practically foreigners.”
“You folks can honestly tell the difference?”
“With Cockneys, certainly, if not with Hereforders.”
“Waal, I guess a Middle Westerner like me knows a Texan from a New Yorker, so why not? Say, Miss Dalrymple, you figure you guys have a real chance of finding Gloria?”
“A chance. The police would have a much better chance. Won’t you let … ?”
“No dice,” said Arbuckle with grim determination.
“I was going to say, at least let me consult a friend of mine who’s a detective at Scotland Yard. Mr. Fletcher’s discreet and absolutely trustworthy.”
“Abso-bally-lutely,” Phillip confirmed. “Besides, we could tell him it’s a hypo … what was that word, Daisy?”
“Hypothetical.”
“It’s no go.” Arbuckle was adamant. “You just don’t unnerstand how things are back home. Kidnapping’s by way of getting to be big business, see, like bootlegging, and Detroit where I come from’s one of the places it’s biggest. There’s lots of lucre floating around on account of the automobile business.”
He leant towards Daisy, hands on his knees, and asked her earnestly, “Now why do folks buy an automobile when they’ve always been contented with a horse and buggy? Because they see other people enjoy owning one. And why do folks do just exactly what kidnappers tell ’em? Because they see what happens to other people’s loved ones if they don’t. A kidnapper not doing what he’s threatened to is like an auto not doing what the manufacturer’s promised it will. Bad for business.”
“Yes, I see that,” Daisy said slowly. She had a feeling there was a flaw in the argument somewhere, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Alec would have seen it.
“So, they tell me ‘no cops,’ no cops it is. After Gloria’s safe, now that’s a whole different ball
game. You can call in your Scotland Yard buddy then. What I want,” Arbuckle snarled, “is I want to see the sons of bitches put away in the hoosegow for life.”
“Oh, I say!” Phillip protested.
“If you’ll pardon the expression, ma’am.”
Daisy indicated that she considered a certain amount of heat was justified in the circumstances. “I hope you haven’t had too much trouble coming up with the ransom money,” she said.
“The bank will have gotten it for me by Friday. I’ll have to go to Lunnon to pick it up.”
“Don’t want to leave anything to chance,” Phillip put in.
“That’s right, son. It’s a heck of a lot of dough, though it won’t bankrupt me by a long ways, no sirree. Not that I wouldn’t bankrupt myself for my girl, Miss Dalrymple,” he added earnestly. “But it makes me think they know what they’re up to and aren’t going to demand delivery before I’ve had time to round up the cash.”
“That’s a relief. We have at least a couple of days to go on searching for Gloria. Unless you want to call off the bloodhounds, Mr. Arbuckle?”
His brow wrinkled in thought. “No, I guess it sounds like you can’t do any harm. If you came through with the goods, if you found where she’s at, why then I’d sure have to think again about bringing in the troopers.”
“We’ll do our best,” Daisy promised. “Would you like to come and meet the others now?”
“I surely would like to shake those folks by the hand.”
“You’ll have to be careful what you say,” she warned. “My cousins, Lord and Lady Dalrymple, think we’re just a house-party.”
Arbuckle chuckled. “Petrie tells me I’m to pose as the guy who ran him off the road, come to make amends.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Phillip, flushing. “It seemed easiest since that’s what Lady Dalrymple guessed.”
“That’s okay, son. I figure I owe you a new auto if yours isn’t found in one piece.”
Phillip’s face darkened to crimson. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Daisy had never seen him at such a loss. “Gosh, that’s jolly generous of you, Mr. Arbuckle,” she said for him. “Did Phillip explain that you’re also posing as a partner in a firm of publishers dying to publish my work?”
“Sure thing.” Arbuckle grinned at her. “Just tell me what magazine you want to write for, ma’am, and I’ll buy it up.”
She laughed. “How about the Saturday Evening Post?”
“Now that could be a mite difficult to purchase outright, but if shares are traded on Wall Street, I’ll buy enough to have a say in the business.”
“I didn’t mean it!”
“I did. No one can say Caleb P. Arbuckle ever forgot a favour, and you couldn’t do me a bigger one than trying to help my Gloria.” His face sagged and his shoulders slumped. “My poor little girl,” he said softly.
Daisy decided it was not the moment to argue about the Saturday Evening Post and wanting to sell one’s work on its merits. “Let’s go to the drawing-room and we’ll introduce you to the others,” she suggested.
His social savoir-faire once more in evidence, Phillip presented the American to Geraldine.
“How do you do, Mr. Arbuckle,” she said with a stiff nod.
“Howdy-do, Lady Dalrymple. It’s real kind of you to let me do my little bit of business with my young friend here in your beautiful house. I want to apologize for gate-crashing, ma’am, and me not even in my tuxedo.”
Geraldine thawed slightly. “What quaint terms you Americans use. Gate-crashing is self-explanatory, I suppose. A tuxedo is a dinner jacket?”
“Sure is. I’ve been in Lunnon and I didn’t have time this evening to change.”
“Have you dined, Mr. Arbuckle?”
“Yes, I thank you, ma’am. I grabbed a bite on the train.”
At Daisy’s side, Lucy murmured, “Unorthodox vocabulary, darling, but acceptable manners.”
“I rather like him.”
“I was afraid he might turn out to be an absolute bounder. Too, too ghastly to discover we’d rescued some tawdry parvenu shopgirl.”
“Not likely. Phillip’s no more likely to excuse vulgarity than you are.”
Lucy raised meticulously plucked eyebrows and turned an attentive gaze on Phillip, hovering anxiously nearby as Geraldine introduced Arbuckle to Edgar. “Aha,” she said, “so that’s how it is? Don’t tell me Phillip has found his soul-mate!”
“Found,” Daisy admitted, “and lost.”
“That does add a certain piquancy to the situation.”
“Let’s just hope he finds her again. Don’t tell anyone else, darling. His people don’t know yet.”
“My lips are sealed. By the way, that reminds me, Binkie says your tame ’tec is coming to stay in the village this weekend.” Lucy’s tone was languid but her eyebrows rose again in a shrewdly enquiring look.
Daisy’s cheeks grew hot. “Yes, he’s coming down.” She tried to sound casual. “I’d promised to support Phil when he introduces the Arbuckles to his parents, and it seemed a good moment for Mother to meet Alec.”
“Cupid’s been busy, I see.” Lucy sighed. “Perhaps it’s about time I proposed to Binkie. The poor prune isn’t likely to find the words to do the job. The best I can hope for is that your example will inspire him to utter, ‘What about it, old girl?’”
“Alec hasn’t proposed.”
“He will. Isn’t it going to be a bit awkward, his landing in the middle of all this? Our American friend won’t be frightfully happy to see a full-blown Detective Chief Inspector on the doorstep.”
“With any luck it will all be over by the weekend,” Daisy said hopefully. “Mr. Arbuckle’s fetching the ransom from town on Friday. If we haven’t found Gloria by then, it’ll be too late.”
Phillip brought Arbuckle over to introduce him to Lucy. In a low voice, the American expressed his gratitude, sincere but not fulsome, for her assistance. Probably the sternest critic present, she appeared to continue to find his manners acceptable.
Daisy would have liked to regard it as a good omen for his reception by Phillip’s parents. The Petries, however, were liable to be rather more exacting when informed that Caleb P. Arbuckle was to become a relation by marriage.
But that was jumping the gun. First catch your hare, as someone or other had said. Until Gloria was safe, there was no sense worrying about how Phillip’s family would receive her and her father.
A few minutes later, after meeting the Pearsons and Binkie, Mr. Arbuckle sought Daisy out. “Say, Miss Dalrymple,” he said, “could we have a quiet word?”
“Of course.” Praying that he wasn’t going to expect an optimistic estimate of their chances of finding Gloria, she led the way to a massive Victorian sofa relegated to an obscure corner of the room.
Sitting down beside her with an irresolute air, he hesitated a moment, then embarked upon a subject Daisy was sure was not on the top of his mind.
“Your cousin—Lord Dalrymple’s your cousin, right?—he’s a swell guy. I wasn’t too sure at first. He kept talking about a rednecked footman, so I figured he was having trouble with a hayseed lackey. ‘Red-neck’ is what Southerners call farm labourers, see, and I’ve heard a lot about the servant problem since I’ve been over here, though it’s usually the ladies complaining.”
“Endlessly,” Daisy agreed, “but I bet Edgar was talking about a moth, wasn’t he?”
“Or a butterfly, I couldn’t say for sure. Something that lays eggs that turn into caterpillars. He knew the Latin name right off. Me, I like a guy with a real good grasp of his subject, even if it’s just bugs. That’s one of the things I like about young Petrie.”
“Really?” Daisy didn’t want to queer Phillip’s pitch, but if Arbuckle was labouring under the delusion that he was a stock market wizard, it might be better to disillusion him before it was too late. “Actually, I don’t think he’s frightfully keen on stocks and shares,” she said with caution.
“Jeez no
! I wouldn’t trust him to buy me a hundred bucks worth of blue chips! That’s my line. It’s carburetors and radiators I’m talking about. Petrie has a real good practical know-how when it comes the innards of an automobile—considering all his disadvantages.”
“Disadvantages?” Daisy queried still more cautiously, wondering what a blue chip was.
“That swank family of his that thinks it’s beneath a lord’s son to meddle with mechanics,” said Arbuckle with considerable heat. “Pardon me, ma’am, I guess I shouldn’t talk that way to a lord’s daughter.”
“No, it’s all right. My mother feels the same way about my writing, or working at all. As a matter of fact, Phillip told me just the other day that he wants to leave the City and have a go at something to do with motors. Anything to do with motors.”
“Does he now? That’s real interesting! I’m sure glad you told me that, Miss Dalrymple. Say, listen, I’ve been wanting to ask you something. I know you’re a mighty good friend of young Phillip’s and I hope you won’t take offence if I’ve gotten hold of the wrong darned end of the stick.”
“Ask away,” said Daisy, dying of curiosity and throwing caution to the winds. “I shan’t take offence and I’ll answer if I can.”
Arbuckle patted her hand. “It’s like this, see. It seems to me Petrie’s taken a shine to my girl. You don’t mind?” he asked anxiously.
“Phillip and I are friends,” she assured him, “practically since our cradles.”
“Waal, that’s a relief, I don’t mind telling you. I wouldn’t want Gloria pinching your boyfriend, specially now I’ve met you. Now, I’ve been a mite puzzled, not knowing just how things are done in your country, and not being able to ask the boy. Just let me ask you this: Him inviting Gloria and me to meet his folks this weekend, does that mean he’s decided he wants to get hitched?”
“It does. You wouldn’t mind your daughter marrying into a ‘swank’ family?”
“Miss Dalrymple,” Arbuckle said passionately, “if I get my girl back safe and sound, she can marry the local ditch-digger if that’s what she wants.”
“Or the local motor mechanic?” Daisy asked. “Phillip said he’d mentioned he’s not in line for the title or estate, and a very modest allowance is all he can expect from his family.”